Head Over Heels
by Misfit Minion
Summary: Donorak would love to get closer to his squad leader, but luck isn't usually on his side and Onso 'Iarusee isn't exactly the brightest of lightbulbs... GRUNTxELITE SHONEN-AI AND FLUFF! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!


**Title:** Head Over Heels

**Disclaimer: **Halo and all of its concepts are copyright © to Bungie and Microsoft Games Studios! I make no profit from writing this story! This is purely for fun! But these characters are my own creation and I'd appreciate it if you'd ask before using them!

**Rating:** T - for some mild language and for my Grunt's pervy thoughts... ((snickers))

**Characters:** Onso 'Iarusee (Sangheili)/ Donorak (Unggoy) (OCs)

**Summary:** Donorak would love to get closer to his squad leader, but luck isn't usually on his side and Onso 'Iarusee isn't exactly the brightest of lightbulbs...

**Word Count:** 1,963

**A/N: **Something that I wrote for the budding Halo slash community over at that thar LiveJournal website and decided that I liked it enough to put it up here. Though, I am awaiting for the rabid fanbois (and girls!) to flame me for writing Halo yaoi... Whatever, I'll just delete your review if it doesn't express your ill views toward this story in a _very well thought out, adult manner._ Besides, this is so ridiculously fluffy, that I want to bash my head against the counter this laptop is sitting on... or throw up... or simultaneously bash my head against the counter while throwing up... Hell, if _that _didn't scare you away, I don't know what will... But this is so _gay_ that I feel like shitting out rainbows...

The LiveJournal is called halo(underscore)slash, by the way, for you people who seem to have fetishes for mandibles and hawt, rippling Brute muscles and ODSTs being ghey for each other and such... but it's still a baby... we have to have more people to give it the sustenance and love it needs... But don't go over there if you hate yaoi, because that wouldn't make much sense, now would it? SO JOIN **_NOW_**!

...plz...

**-o-O-o-o0o-o-O-o-**

Donorak would've been an utter liar if he would have denied being completely enamored of his Sangheili squad leader...

He hadn't meant for it to happen; the realization had come out of the blue. The very first time he'd laid eyes on the handsome young warrior (and every time from that point on when the tiny Unggoy happened to look over at the blue-armored rookie), a lump would leap into his throat, spluttering him up for about ten minutes, until one of his tribe brothers had to temporarily remove his re-breather and beat him on the back, wondering at him while he took supplementary drags from his methane mask.

"Ya ain't sick, are ya?" was the customary query to this random bout of coughing, followed instantly by wary looks.

Poor Donorak had to lie, saying it was faulty wiring in his mask or some other such nonsense to get the others off his case. He'd _never_ even give them the tiniest fraction of a clue as to what was the real problem with him. Thank the Forerunners that most of his tribesmen were a bit dull. If they'd been smarter, they would probably have noticed that his hacking always happened whenever their rookie leader took to strutting by.

It frightened him to death, being all a flutter over a Sangheili, one of the Prophet's blessed swords; a mighty fighter that would probably beat him to death once he found out about Donorak's little crush over him. Well... he could fully admit (but not without a heated, bright-blue blush staining his cheeks, thankfully hidden by his mask) that it was also completely _worth_ liking the male, because, for a rookie, Onso 'Iarusee had _such_ broad, well-defined shoulders...

"Donnie! Quit daydreaming and help us move these parts!"

The Minor nearly jumped three feet into the air at the mention of his nickname. Muttering an apology, he waddled over to a group of four others of his kind, helping pick up pieces of a Shade turret to be put together for later use. But, as soon as he tried lifting a part, his legs practically buckled out from underneath him.

"Th-This... is _heavy_!" he whined, clawing desperately at the Shade piece's smooth, plum-colored surface for purchase. "Can one of you - damn it - can one of you help me?"

But the plea fell on deaf ears. The other Unggoy - the other, bigger, stronger Unggoy; curse his small frame! - were already a good distance away, the bustling noise that was High Charity's populace covering his pathetic squeaks for assistance.

He felt a moment's small panic settle in his stomach. Surely one of his Elite betters were bound to notice him, and they most surely would assume that he was slacking on the job. Donorak was not new to an Unggoy beating for what Sangheili commanders viewed as common ineptness among the lower classes', but he most certainly did not _ever_ want to become a prop for one of those... demonstrations...

"C'mon guys! Help me out!" he yelled, his voice uncommonly shrill, which was amazing, considering that his voice was a few octaves higher than what was normal for most Unggoy. "I can't do this on my own! I really need your - _eek!_"

That embarrassing yelp had happened because a silhouette had fallen over him - a very tall, very familiar silhouette of a Sangheili. It was just so remarkable that the _shadow _of one of those aliens could look so _imposing_, especially when fully adorned in combat armor...

"You're lagging behind, little one," a young, but still deeply mature voice rumbled.

The tiny slave alien felt his heart dropped to his padded feet. Oh, Gods, Donnie knew that voice, knew it like the back of his own paw. But why, why, _why _did it have to be -

"E-E-Excellence 'Iarusee!" Donorak gurgled lamely into his mask upon turning, feeling as though he was about to lose feeling in his legs again. Oh... to be this close to him, breathing in that clean scent of his through the stale, slightly metallic tasting methane of his mask's tubing...

"You need to hurry. We need these Shade turrets for the front lines." Onso gave Donorak an odd look for the equally odd way the Unggoy was staring at him, but quickly smoothed it away. Straightening, he was about to begin walking to the docking bay when a small voice interrupted him -

"I-I can't... lift it, E-Excellency..."

Checking a sigh, Onso turned his long neck around to glance over at the Unggoy. "What do you mean?"

Blushing with shame, Donnie forced himself to repeat his less-than-impressive words, "I cannot lift it, Excellency... I'm - I'm too... weak..." He bit his lip, his head hanging low like a beaten dog's. Damn, how would he impress his Master if he couldn't even lift a few measly pounds?

The rookie almost let his mature countenance crumble at the sight of the minute slave's misery. It was laughably endearing: His large, purplish-blue eyes were shiny with humiliation and unshed tears; his small shoulders were slumped, one arm scratching dully at the other with no real purpose in mind other than giving him something to do... So cute, in a typically Grunty way.

'Iarusee managed to gather his stern, 'Commanding Officer' face before he strode back to stand at the methane-breather's side. Oh, Gods... he practically laughed again - Donorak barely came up to his knee and he still had so much baby fat left on him! Chubby and pouting... it was too adorable!

The warrior just barely kept his mandibles set in a grim line as he went down on one knee to at least be - somewhat - on level with him. It really would do no good for the little one to go into battle in a state like this... Maybe some encouragement was in order...?

Donorak was feeling too depressed at the moment to actually take notice of his surroundings. How could he have looked like such an idiot in front his hero? Gods, he was pathetic!

_Someone bury me now_, his thoughts whined, also flailing their arms around childishly to boot.

"Please forgive me, Excellency," or that's what he had been originally about to stutter in a totally wretched tone when he felt a gentle pressure rest on top his head. Confused, he wondered what was going on, decided to glance upwards, and then proceeded to stare so widely in shock that his eyes nearly bugged from their sockets.

Onso 'Iarusee was patting him on the head - well, more like _petting_ him, like he would a well-loved animal - but Donorak couldn't have cared less at the moment. To think that Onso was touching him... _touching him!_ Even if it was just a pat on the head! It was almost too much for the poor thing to handle...

"'You should always aim at complete harmony of thought and word and deed. Always aim at purifying your thoughts and everything will be well.'"

"Huh...?" Donnie breathed, wholly focused on the Elite's face, which looked just so incredible with a certain amount of cool gravitas surrounding that youthful... attractive... beautiful...

'Iarusee didn't even bother to repeat the quote, because he saw that the Unggoy was besotted on something else entirely. On what, he didn't know (he blamed it on the general weirdness of the lesser races), but he did give the methane-breather a... _look_ to inform the him that he was trying to speak to him and that he should pay attention.

It seemed to work - Donorak snapped out of his fantasy-land in an instant, realizing how much a fool he'd appeared in his superior's eyes. His cheeks flooded with color (once again he thanked the Gods for his mask) and he allowed his head to limply and intently watch his flat feet. Experiencing absolute hopelessness, feeling ignorant and worthless in front of this wonderful male, the little alien began to murmur out another apology for his stupidity, his shrill voice muffled by the collar of his armor, which he was speaking into, "I am s-sorry for my odd behavior, Excellency... F-F-Forgive me... I am n-n-not feeling all that well - "

"You know, when I speak to someone," Onso cut in, his voice nothing but an intense rumble to Donnie's ears, "I usually - " - a strong, sinewy arm reached out - " - look them - " - the clawed hand curled itself under the Grunt's babyish chin, tilting his head up - " - in the eyes."

Sweet Prophets... Oh, sweet, sweet, Prophets... And he'd been overjoyed about the _head pat_? This was far better, so much better, fantastically better...!

Donarak felt his whole body come close to crumbling - it should have, considering just how bad he was quivering. He found himself cursing the fact that he had to breath methane for once in his life, for if he could breath in oxygen, he would not have any need of this _stupid_ mask that was most _definitely_ blocking the Elite's touch. All he could feel were slight brushes of Onso's claws slipping at the very edge of his mask - teasing wisps against his burning skin. And having to look directly into the Sangheili's smoldering, forest green eyes wasn't making things any better... Donnie felt his mind melting into mush; he couldn't even breath straight. He felt himself becoming deliciously faint from inhaling so much of Onso's exotic scent... The wild urge of leaning heavily into the too soft touch, of pressing against the hard, muscular body was almost too much to bear...

" - it shows that you have respect for the speaker," Onso continued the tirade obliviously, not paying the least bit of attention to his charge, "and if you cannot show respect to the individuals around you, how do you believe you, yourself, will gain respect? Am I not right, little one?"

"Mmmm-_hmmm_..."

"Ex_cuse_ me?"

Donarak understood his mistake a second too late. Rapidly blinking away his daydreams, he responded with a much more _respectful_, "Of course, Excellence 'Iarusee! Your words could not have been closer to the truth!"

"Yes, well, ahem," the Elite coughed, tamping down his ego (not really), "I must be going. Do have the _entire_ turret ready to assemble before we depart."

"Ah... o-of course, Excellency," Donnie burbled in a gooey tone that was utterly disgusting to hear. Not without a little regret did he watch the young warrior swagger down the walkway towards his fellows. He already missed his warmth.

But his grief soon fled him as his brain kicked into overdrive. To think that he'd managed to get _that close_ to Onso, managed to be _touched_ by him, as well. The little Grunt was practically purring as his thoughts replayed over and over the motion of 'Iarusee's muscles smoothly sliding over one another underneath the skin-tight vacuum-suit... the bunched muscles of his abs as he'd been curled over... the silky transition of his biceps and triceps when he'd reached over to _touch_ _his chin_... It wouldn't even be a problem for Onso to lift this stupid Shade piece...

And then it slapped him right across the face...

"Oh, _damn!_" he wailed, gripping at his head. "I still need help with this dumb piece! I haven't gotten anywhere! O-Onso - err... Excellence, 'Iarusee! I need your help!"

No such luck, the Sangheili was long gone by now and he was still stuck here. Not even the pleasant thoughts of his crush could get him out of this fix. It just goes to show you that a pretty face isn't always that helpful...

Dragging the piece inch by inch, sweat pouring down his childish face, Donarak managed to gasp out, "_This isn't any fair!_"

**JOYOUS FINALITY **

**-o-O-o-o0o-o-O-o-**

Jesus... I'd hate to see their babies...


End file.
